The Shallowest Depth
by stellapix
Summary: Squid story #99999991. Cliche, trite, and hackneyed are all lovely words. Welcome to Green Lake, Alan.


A few (longboringdreadful) things before we begin our much-clichéd story: I'm not the best writer, so REVIEWS ARE LOVE. (Hey, I'll gladly take flames. Flame your little hearts out.) Before you read anything else, go read grab bag's MarySue Guide to Surviving Camp Greenlake. It's brilliant. Yeah, that thing needs to be published. Like now. Someone get on that. 

-In spite of reading it, I am, yes, still writing a girl-goes-to-Green Lake fic. w00t!

-This is a time period before either Zero or Stanley go to the camp. The way I see it, D-Tent has a kind of system where they's a line of leaders, kind of like kings or emperors of dynasties, where the next in line takes over after the current leader dies/leaves/etc. X-Ray's next in line, then Armpit, etc, etc. Squid works his way up to the position he's written as in the book/movie: after Armpit.

-Also, I have a tendency to not introduce characters since, hello, fanfiction, but that's not the case here. I just got lazy.

-Wow this list is almost longer than the fic.

Disclaimer: Fan not mine/Fiction not real. Without further ado…

* * *

Alan Ericsson is not stupid. Sure, things may come out a little obtusely from his mouth sometimes, but he's a bright kid: the moment he stepped off the brightly colored bus, dust clouds rose up around his feet he knew exactly what he was getting himself into. _Green Lake my ass_. Mr. Sir had squinted unkindly then, blowing smoke from a stubby cigarette at him. 

"Arrested for cocaine possession, eh? It wouldn't be the first time we've had one of those," he paused to spit out with contempt, "a_ druggie_."

He'd kept silent. See, he's been around people like Mr. Sir all his life – worse, even. The rule of thumb is to stay quiet. There are worse things than being thought a druggie or criminal. _Much worse_, Alan mused.

He really isn't that dense. Now, standing at the back of the canteen line, he can ascertain that there is a certain pecking order in D Tent. His analysis of it is pretty accurate: Everyone is lined up by rank. Freshmeat in the back. At the front of the line stands Lightning. Lightning can have anyone on the ground and begging for mercy faster than his name; he is the official leader of the pack, head wolf, etc, etc. After him are his henchmen. His minions. X-Ray and Armpit. Next comes Zigzag. Scary dude, no further commentary needed. Then Magnet – a self-explanatory name: he can steal anything from your underwear (_while_ your wearing it) to a puppy (Alan gets some serious tree-hugger vibes from this one). But the person in back of Magnet he can't see. The kid's name is Jade. A face is half-hidden under the wide brim of a loosely unraveling cap; he can't even recall seeing the kid last night, upon his arrival at Camp Green Lake. What he _can_ see is a peculiar-looking mouth. Which he probably shouldn't stare at – no, he decides he will take a closer look at lunchtime.

He walks back to his hole; a quarter of it has already been filled back up, courtesy of Armpit. Wincing at the angrily popping blisters on his hands, he gingerly picks his shovel back up and begins to dig.

---

Sitting next to him, Magnet picks at a slice of bread gone moldy. They all sit in a semi-circle, haphazardly formed around a freshly dug hole. The air is thick with the scent of unwashed delinquent, and dirt and dust cling to their sweat-dampened faces. Alan still hasn't seen Jade's face. Currently, the kid's back faces him in an epic battle with Zigzag for the last stale cookie. The kid receives a punch to the gut… and is down for the count.

Trying to simultaneously sit up and get some breath back, the corners of Jade's mouth turn downward, teeth flashing angrily to tell Zigzag off.

"You know why we're here, _Alan Ericsson_?" Lightning eyes gleam with malice as he chews rather unattractively on a bruised apple.

Alan tears his gaze away from the scene to answer, "Serving out a crime sentence. For dealing."

"Like drugs?" Armpit cuts in.

Lightning ignores him, "Huh. Yeah. They dump you here in a boys' correctional facility to build character. That's what diggin' holes does. _Builds. Character._"

"Pfff. Man, the warden ain't looking for no character-building – that's for sure," X-Ray says, "True, she's looking for _something_, but it sure as hell ain't character."

Alan's ears perk up. He pauses, though, before questioning, "What's she lookin' for?"

But the boys are already getting up and dusting themselves off to return to their work, signifying the end of the discussion.

---

Dinner isn't too much more tasty than lunch. Everything on Alan's plate is still breathing. Frankenfood. He stares at the chunky brown mush. Maybe if he stares long enough, he'll get to see it start crawling.

"So," Lightning pulls Alan out of his thought experiment, "in honor of our new guest, I think a retelling of the Mourning Melody's in order."

As if on cue, everyone around the table goes still at once, shifting their eyes around at one another. Alan starts to feel a bit uncomfortable. Magnet begins solemnly, "In the wake of a new arrival…"

"You can hear a ghostly tune playing off in the distance," Zigzag picks up, eyes shining as they shift back and forth for effect.

"They say a woman – Miss Melody – lost her child out there to a vicious dust storm," Armpit continues.

X-Ray takes over, "So she wandered the desert for sixty days and sixty-one nights, calling his name all the while."

"When she finally lost her voice to the dryness…"

"She stumbled upon an old, abandoned tavern…"

"And remembered an old lullaby she used to sing to him…."

"She started up the piano in the old tavern, playing the tune of the lullaby to call out to him…"

Then, something happens that makes the three-week-old, mutated food hitch in Alan's throat. The brim of Jade's cap lifts up, revealing thick, long lashes that flutter in a sweet fan against tanned cheeks. Full, pink lips open and close around a mouthful of stale bread. Chew. Swallow. Speak.

"And she still calls for her little boy today, clinking out a sad song to the dead of night," she stares straight at Alan, grinning wolfishly.

Nobody notices him choke on a bite of mushy beans.


End file.
